The Guest Room
by Leia 96
Summary: When Joe opened his guest room to a terrified, traumatized little boy on the worst night of his life, he expected it to be temporary. He never imagined that the guest room would become the little boy's bedroom—that the house would become his home, and the Wests his family.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ _First Flash fic! Forgive me if this is something that has been done a lot, I haven't read much for the Flash—but my little bit of researching didn't turn up anything like this, so hopefully it's a little different. This came out of my absolute love of Joe, my psychology class where we talked about the childhood grieving process and childhood trauma, and my interest, of course, in how Joe ended up deciding to take Barry in. This will be a few chapters. At least three, possibly more—I have the bare bones worked out, but who knows when I'll decide it's done. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and I always appreciate feedback!_

* * *

His heart almost stopped when he heard the address come in over the radio.

"Okay, you're headed to 324 Roosevelt Drive, it's just north of—"

"Yeah, I know where it is."

Joe West's partner glanced at him at his tone.

"You know it?" Joe scrubbed a hand down his face, preparing for the worst. All they'd known when they headed out, sirens blaring, was they had a 911 call from a kid about some kind of attack at his home.

"My daughter's best friend lives there."

* * *

"I didn't do this! I swear to God, I didn't do this! Joe, tell them—I love my wife! Oh God, Nora!"

Joe knelt by the covered body of Nora Allen. He had liked Nora; she had been kind, and he had always appreciated that his daughter had a woman like that to look up to in the absence of a mother.

He hadn't known what to expect when they burst into the Allen home after finding a distraught Barry in the yard, but it wasn't this. It wasn't a man he knew, a man he considered a friend and had allowed his daughter to stay with, standing over his dead wife, murder weapon in hand.

"My son!" Henry Allen cried. "What about my son?!" His pleading eyes met Joe's, and Joe narrowed his own. His heart broke a little when he thought of that cheerful, happy little boy, and what he had seen. An officer was with him in the yard, keeping him from coming into the house, but Joe suspected he had witnessed whatever had happened. When they arrived, he had been frantically telling anyone who would listen about the lightning that had attacked his mother.

"I have a son!" Henry shouted desperately as an officer forced the cuffed man out the front door.

Joe turned his attention back to the body in front of him as Henry's shouts were muffled by the closing door.

Nora was someone he considered a friend. She was smart and funny, incredibly witty, and had always been kind to Iris—and she had loved her son very much, that much had always been apparent to Joe.

He rested a gloved hand over Nora's cold, bare one and sighed. He had arrested countless murderers, investigated countless crime scenes, and clinically examined countless bodies—but never in a house where his daughter had spent the night, or of a woman who'd been a friend.

"Joe, you know these people?" a CSI he was friendly with asked as he passed. Joe glanced up at the man.

"My daughter's best friends with their kid."

"I'm sorry." Joe exhaled and stood, rubbing his face, and turned his attention to the CSI, all business.

"Do you have anything?"

"Not much you don't already know. We bagged the murder weapon; we'll run it for prints but, well, I doubt we're gonna find anything surprising. We'll get samples of all this blood, but I'm thinking it's all the vic's."

"Mom." Joe froze and, as if in slow motion, turned to look in Nora Allen's direction.

Kneeling there, peeking under the corner of the cover, was a little boy, wide-eyed and scared.

"Barry," Joe murmured, kneeling and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Mom!" he cried, and Joe carefully took the corner of the cover and placed it back over Nora's exposed face.

"I'm so sorry, Barry," Joe said, his hand firmly on Barry's shoulder. Barry hiccupped softly, then turned to look at Joe, face full of fear and innocence.

"Where did they take my dad?" Joe examined his face for a moment, struggling to find the words.

"To jail, Barry. They're taking him to jail." Joe pulled a little on the bony, pajama-clad elbow, until he and Barry were both standing.

"No, my dad didn't do it! It was the man with the lightning! He was wearing yellow, and there was lightning everywhere and—"

"It's okay, we can talk about it later, alright?"

"But my dad didn't do it!"

"Okay." Joe guided him out toward the police car and opened the passenger door for him.

Joe pulled down the seatbelt and handed it to Barry as he climbed inside.

"Buckle up. I have to go talk to someone. I'll be right back, and then we'll go." Barry nodded, and Joe closed the door and went to find his supervisor.

"I'm getting the kid out of here," he said, and the supervisor turned.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea. We don't need him here for this, the CSIs are just doing their thing at this point."

"And he doesn't need to see when they bring his mom out," Joe agreed.

"How about you take him to the station and get a statement, then you can hand him over to social services. They'll find some family member for him, or foster care." Joe hesitated.

"Do you think the statement can wait? We did make an arrest. Plus I think he's in shock, he's not making a whole lot of sense." The captain nodded.

"Yeah, you've got a point. Poor kid's probably exhausted. Just give him to social services then; I'll make a call and make sure there's a social worker waiting when you get there."

Joe turned and looked back at the car, where a little sandy-haired head was visible, leaning against the window.

"I can take him tonight," he said, turning back to the captain. The captain looked blank, and Joe explained. "He's friends with Iris; he's spent the night with us before. Tomorrow we can deal with social services, but it's the middle of the night. He must be tired."

"Man, I'm sorry. Didn't realize you knew them," the captain answered, scratching his head. "Yeah. You know what, that's a good idea. Take him back to your place; he can stay with you for tonight. You're a family friend, so that's fine."

Joe nodded and headed back to the car.

"We're going back to my house," he said as he got in. "You're staying with me and Iris for tonight." He put the key in the ignition and turned to look at Barry, who nodded. There were fresh tear tracks on his face, and Joe took a deep breath. Joe took his hand off the gearshift and gave Barry a serious look.

"I am so sorry this happened to you, Barry." Barry blinked hard, and Joe sighed. That was the face of a kid who was changed forever.

They rode in silence to the West home. Joe glanced periodically at Barry, who stared blankly ahead, tear tracks still wet on his face.

When they arrived, Barry made no move to leave, so Joe got out and walked around to open his door for him. Almost robotically, Barry unbuckled, and Joe put a hand on his elbow and guided him out of the car and toward the door.

Emma, the Central City University student who stayed with Iris when Joe worked the night shift, was asleep on the couch, and Joe knelt by her side and shook her shoulder gently.

"Mr. West!" She sat up quickly and smoothed her messy hair with her hand. "What time is it?"

"It's only four," he answered quietly. "Something came up and I'm back early, so you can head home if you'd like." Emma nodded and reached for her shoes before noticing Barry standing in the doorway.

Joe leaned in a little and murmured in her ear, "He's had a rough night."

Emma knew Barry, of course; Joe had originally gotten her name from the Allens, back when Iris and Barry were in kindergarten. Her face softened as she took in the shaking, wide-eyed boy, still in pajamas, not even wearing shoes. Joe wasn't sure what she thought may have happened, but she could clearly tell it wasn't good.

As she hastily tied her shoes and gathered her things, Joe led Barry into the guest room—where Emma usually slept, though she had been known to fall asleep on the couch now and then. The bed was made up with fresh sheets, and Joe held the door open and motioned for Barry to go in.

The kid hadn't spoken since they left the crime scene, and Joe suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that there was nothing he could do or say for him. This eleven year old boy had likely watched his father kill his mother, and nothing could make that go away.

"Why don't you go to bed, try to get some sleep?" Joe suggested quietly, and Barry glanced up at him.

"Where's my dad?" Joe sighed and took a seat on the bed, patting the spot next to him.

"He's in jail," he answered once Barry was sitting.

"And my mom?" Barry's voice broke as he asked it, and he turned to meet Joe's eyes. Joe put a hand on Barry's shoulder.

"I'd imagine your mom's in heaven right about now," he said quietly.

"No but… is she still at home? Or… where is she?"

"Oh," Joe murmured, and thought for a moment. How much information to give him? He felt suddenly very much out of his depth. "Well, she probably is still at home. They'll leave her there while they look at your house for clues and information."

"What about when they're done?" Joe heaved a sigh.

"Then they'll take her to a special doctor who will look at her body and can get clues from it—that's the medical examiner."

"And then?" Joe rubbed Barry's back absently.

"Then she'll go to a funeral home, and they'll get her ready for the funeral. And after that you'll get to see her one last time and say goodbye."

"Will my dad get to say goodbye?" Barry turned wide, shining eyes up toward Joe, who sighed and squeezed his shoulder.

"Probably not. Not if he has to go to prison."

"But he didn't do it!"

"We're doing everything we can right now, and if that's true, we'll find proof."

Barry looked unconvinced, so Joe changed the subject.

"Tomorrow you and I will go to the station and you'll give a statement—you'll tell us exactly what happened, everything you saw and heard. Then we'll talk to a social worker who'll help you get in contact with your family so you can go stay with them."

"And then you'll let my dad go?"

"Well, that'll depend on a lot of things. Your statement, the evidence we find, what your neighbors say." Joe hastily steered the conversation back away from this topic. "So then the social worker will take you to go stay with a relative, and then in a few days will be your mom's funeral."

"Her funeral," Barry repeated quietly, tears filling his eyes. He took a deep, gasping breath, and then another, which gave way to big heaving sobs. Joe pulled him closer to him so that he was crying into Joe's lap, Joe's strong arms around him.

"I know," Joe murmured, though Barry had not said anything.

"I—just—wanna—talk—to—my—mom!" Barry gasped word by word, and Joe felt his throat burning and eyes pricking.

"I know, Barry," he answered.

They sat like that for an hour, until Barry had cried himself to sleep, at which point Joe carefully maneuvered him under the covers, head on the pillow. Flipping off the light and carefully closing the door, he glanced at his watch; he had an hour to sleep before it would be time to wake Iris for school.


	2. Chapter 2

_**AN:**_ _This has had a great response so far, so thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed—especially those of you who've reviewed! Anyway, I wanted to note that I've been doing my research on the legal system (aka interrogating my attorney mother with lots of "what if" questions) and realized I have a mistake in the first chapter, when Joe says that Henry won't be able to attend the funeral. Because people who can afford it get released on bail until their trial, Henry would almost certainly have attended the funeral. It complicates the outline I had already worked out for this story, but having Henry free for a few months adds an extra dynamic that I like, so I'm just going to work with it. Anyway, reviews are so helpful and make me happy, so please leave me one! And as always, I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Joe was bone tired. When the alarm went off, he—with much effort—peeled his eyes open and groaned, swatting his hand vaguely in the direction of the offending noise until he managed to turn it off. It had taken over half of his hour to fall asleep, and when he finally had dropped off, it had been far from restful—when his work got personal, that tended to happen.

He had a ten-year-old daughter who would be upset if she was late to school though, so he rolled haphazardly out of bed and stumbled out of the room.

Before anything, he carefully opened the guest room door and confirmed that Barry was still asleep; he hoped he would stay that way for a while—not only did he need it, but maybe Joe could put off for a few more hours having to deal with the horror that had been last night.

Reassured, Joe quietly closed the door and headed across the hall to Iris's door. Taking a breath, he knocked before opening without waiting for an answer.

"Iris," he called in a vaguely sing-song tone, flicking on the light. "Time to wake up, honey."

A groan came from the mound of blankets, from which all that was visible was a little puff of dark hair.

"Come on, gotta get up, Iris." Her head popped out of the mound.

"I'm up," she mumbled. Normally that was all he waited for, but this morning was different. He needed to talk to her now, in case Barry woke up sooner than Joe was hoping.

He came further into the room and sat on the end of her bed. Iris groaned loudly and sat all the way up, tossing the covers off of herself.

"I'm up, I'm up!"

"Honey, I've got to talk to you about something." His tone was apparently solemn enough to catch her attention.

"What's wrong?" she asked, crawling down to the foot of the bed to sit next to him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, which apparently alarmed her. "Dad? What happened?"

For a half a second he wondered if he could just not tell her, if he could just let her have her innocence and her optimism, if he could avoid this awful conversation he'd known was coming since he heard the address over the radio last night.

But that wouldn't be fair to his tough, independent daughter, and it certainly wouldn't be fair to Barry, who would be needing his best friend more than ever.

"Something bad happened to Barry last night," he began. Her eyes immediately grew wide and worried.

"What? What happened? Is he okay?"

"He's okay," Joe reassured her quickly, wondering if he shouldn't have started with that. But he was in uncharted territory here, so he stumbled along as best he could.

"Well what happened?" Iris asked hesitantly as he was trying to work out what to say next.

"Well," he said slowly, "last night I responded to a call at his house. He was okay," Joe made sure to say again, "but his parents… I guess they had a fight. We're not really sure what happened yet." He was sure he was muddling this all up as he tried to put off the part he was dreading. Her eyes were wide, and he could see she hadn't guessed what he was about to say. "We're not really sure what happened," he repeated, "but… well, Barry's mom died last night."

He felt the familiar sting in his throat as he watched Iris's eyes fill with tears.

"Nora?" Joe nodded and wrapped his arms around her when she leaned into him, crying. They sat like that a moment and then she looked up at him.

"How's Barry?" she asked as he used his thumb to wipe away one of her tears.

"He's sad." And boy did that oversimplify things—but what else could he say to her? That Barry's father was a murderer and likely going to prison, throwing Barry's entire future into uncertainty? That he had witnessed whatever had happened and was probably traumatized for life? No. Not now, anyway.

"He's actually in the guest room right now," Joe added. "That's why I wanted to tell you now, so that if he wakes up before you leave for school you'll know what's going on."

"Why isn't he with his dad?" Seeing her big, innocent eyes, Joe exhaled a realization. He had not been explicit enough in telling her what had happened.

"Honey," he said quietly. "Barry can't stay with his dad because we had to take him to jail." At her look of confusion, he steeled himself and said it. "We… we arrested him for Nora's murder." He watched her face then. He watched the split second it changed as if in slow motion—he watched her confusion turn to horror, as if he could _see_ the innocence and optimism leaving her world.

"Oh no," she said softly. Yes, he agreed silently, that about summed it up. "I know this is a lot, Iris," he murmured, rubbing her shoulder. "I'm telling you this because Barry's going to need a friend, and I know you're going to be there for him. Right?" She nodded emphatically. Switching gears, Joe stood.

"Right now, you've got to get ready for school though." Joe waited for Iris's nod, then left her to get dressed.

He peeked into the guestroom again, confirming that Barry was still asleep, then went downstairs to pour Iris a bowl of cereal. She came down a few minutes later, dressed and hair fixed, holding her shoes in one hand.

As she started her breakfast, Joe loaded up the coffee maker and then sat down across from her. After a moment, she looked up from her cereal at him.

"Dad?"

"Mmm?" She hesitated for a moment.

"Why… why did he do it?" Joe exhaled. There were any number of things he could say, but after a moment, he decided on the truth.

"I don't know. I haven't even gotten a chance to talk to him, I just brought Barry straight home."

"Oh," she said. She took a bite of cereal and looked up. "He's going to prison?"

"I don't know. He's in jail right now, but in a few days they'll let him out and he'll be at home until his trial. And then at the trial they'll decide if he goes to prison." He watched her face but it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.

Finally she said quietly, "I always thought Henry seemed nice."

"I know. I did too." The quiet admittance was all he had to offer his daughter.

* * *

Joe hated to leave Barry alone, even though he was a perfectly competent eleven-year-old, but he had no choice if Iris was going to get to school. He wrote out a quick note that he left on the bedside table in the guest room telling Barry where he'd gone and that he'd be back soon with breakfast, and that he could help himself to anything in the house, and then he and Iris were out the door.

Joe watched Iris carefully on the drive to Central City Elementary School, but she was quiet. After a few minutes, he couldn't help but ask, "How are you doing? Do you have any questions?"

"I have a lot of questions," she said, turning to look at her dad, "but I think they're the same questions you have." His little ten-year-old looked wise beyond her years, and for the second time that morning, he wanted to cry.

When they pulled up to the school, as she reached down and pulled on her backpack, he caught her attention.

"Iris?" When she was looking at him, he continued. "This probably goes without saying, but please don't mention any of this to the kids at school. I'll talk to y'all's teacher and see how she thinks we should handle it, but just keep it to yourself for now."

"Of course, Daddy." She leaned over and Joe gave her a long hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

"Love you too, Daddy."

* * *

Joe didn't go directly home. He stopped at Walmart and picked up a couple of Barry-sized t-shirts, pairs of underwear, and pairs of shorts, and estimated on foot size to get a pair of sneakers. At the very least they would be acceptable for him to wear into a store to get proper-sized shoes. He also picked up an extra toothbrush and a cheap package of little boy socks.

He stopped to pick up donuts on his way home, hoping having a treat would encourage the kid's appetite. When he got home he didn't see Barry downstairs anywhere, and sure enough, when he went upstairs, Barry was still asleep in the guest room.

Joe grabbed a donut and stretched out on the couch. He wasn't expected at the station for hours given the shift he'd pulled last night, and hopefully he had at least a couple of hours before Barry woke up. Shoving the donut in his mouth almost whole, he laid back and let his eyes close.

When they opened again, it was sudden, and to the sound of screaming. Joe bolted upright and immediately identified the sound as coming from upstairs.

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Joe raced toward the sound, taking the stairs two at a time. He threw open the guest room door and stopped.

Half screaming and half sobbing, Barry was pale and sweaty, tangled up in the blankets, and apparently still asleep.

"Barry!" Joe said sharply, reaching the bedside in moments. "Barry." He shook Barry's shoulder with a hand, gentle but firm, and Barry's eyes flew open.

"What? Joe?" Joe sighed, relieved. The poor kid's eyes were wild and confused; when he slept over, it was usually in a sleeping bag on Iris's bedroom floor (an arrangement Joe and Henry had recently discussed as needing to change before long as the kids got older), so the guest room was entirely unfamiliar to him.

"You're at my house," Joe murmured. "You're in the guest room. You just had a nightmare, that's why I woke you up."

"Oh," Barry said quietly, shoving damp bangs out of his eyes. Watching Barry with concerned eyes, Joe sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Do you…" he hesitated. "Do you remember why you're here? Do you remember what happened last night?" He watched Barry's eyes lower and darken.

"Yeah," Barry mumbled. Joe sighed.

"Okay. Well how about you take a shower? That'll make you feel a little better. And when you're done I have donuts, and then we've got to head to the station." When Barry didn't answer, Joe prompted him. "How does that sound?"

"Okay," Barry answered, and Joe stood up and gestured for him to get out of bed. He led him to the bathroom and got a fresh towel out for him, and let him know that he'd leave one of the outfits he'd picked up at Walmart that morning right outside the door.

Barry stayed in the shower for nearly forty-five minutes, and by the time he came down with floppy wet hair and his slightly ill-fitting new clothes, it was almost one. Joe had set out a plate with a donut and a glass of milk, which Barry sat in front of.

"I know you might not be hungry right now, but you should eat," Joe said after watching Barry stare at the donut for a few moments. "If you don't want that I can fix you something else."

Barry shook his head and obediently took a bite of the donut.

"I can't imagine how you're feeling right now," Joe said as Barry ate, "but today we have to go to the police station."

"Why?" Barry asked, reaching for the glass of milk.

"Well, we're going to need to ask you some questions about what happened last night. We'll just ask you what you what you saw and heard."

"Will you be asking the questions?"

"Well," Joe said thoughtfully, taking another donut for himself, "some other people might be in the room, but sure, if you want, I can be the one to ask the questions."

"That's what I want."

"Well, we can do that. But its' not as scary as it might sound; you're not in any trouble. You don't have anything to worry about." Barry chugged the last of the glass of milk, and Joe took the glass to refill. As he was pouring, Barry spoke again.

"Is my dad in trouble?" Joe sighed as he set the glass in front of Barry.

"Yeah, Barry. Your dad's in trouble."

"He didn't do it," Barry said quietly. "If I tell you what really happened will you let him go?"

"Well, it depends on a lot of things," Joe hedged, trying not to disappoint the kid without making promises he couldn't keep, "but if there's evidence that your dad is innocent, we'll let him go. We don't lock up the good guys."

Barry shoved the rest of the donut in his mouth, took a gulp of the milk, and stood.

"Then I'm ready to go."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ _New chapter! Yay! As always, thanks so much to the people who take the time to review this story, as well as the people who follow and favorite it! This is the longest chapter yet—so far each chapter is longer than the last, which is pretty unusual for me! It's a super dialogue heavy chapter, and I'm wondering what y'all think of it. Be sure to let me know! Anyway, enjoy!_

* * *

"What's that?"

"She's just setting up a camera," Joe explained, sitting across the table from Barry, who was watching the CCPD's resident tech expert adjust a camera that was pointed at him.

"Why?"

"We want to film your statement so that you only have to go through this once if we can help it." Barry nodded, but his eyes stayed wide and trained on the camera.

"Okay, Detective West, we're all set up here," Lacey said as she finished. "Should I start recording?"

"You ready, Barry?" Joe asked, drawing the little boy's eyes away from the camera and to his own face. He nodded, and Joe turned. "Yeah, if you would, Lacey. And then if you could give us a little privacy?" She nodded, pressed a button that made a small beep, and left, the heavy door closing behind her with a thud.

There was no privacy, of course. Lacey, the captain, Joe's partner, a social worker, and probably a myriad of other cops would be watching on a screen just outside, but they had all agreed that it would be best to let Joe question Barry alone.

Barry's eyes were fixed on the camera again, and Joe waved a hand to catch the kid's attention.

"How about we pretend the camera's not there, okay? You can just look at me," Joe said cautiously. Barry's eyes slid once again from the camera to Joe's face, and Joe nodded encouragingly. "It's just you and me," he reassured him.

With big blue eyes looking out at him from a very small boy, Joe sighed. This was the hard part.

"How about we start with yesterday," he began, deciding to ease into it. "Did anything happen yesterday?"

"Um, like what?"

"Anything. How about at school?" Barry's eyes flicked to the camera and then back to Joe.

"I got in a fight," he mumbled.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. On the way home from school. They were chasing me but I wasn't fast enough."

"So then what happened?"

"I thought my mom would be mad at me but she wasn't," he said quietly, looking at his hands folded on the table.

"She was probably glad you were okay," Joe comforted, leaning in a little. Barry shrugged. When he didn't speak, Joe prompted him. "What did your dad think?"

"Mom told him I won," Barry murmured. "But I didn't, they beat me up."

That piqued his interest, but he kept it to himself.

"Why do you think she said that to him then?" he asked smoothly.

"It made him happy. He was proud of me. He said not to fight anymore but he also said he was proud."

It was time to head carefully into tenser territory.

"How did your mom and dad get along?" Barry shrugged.

"Good."

"How about last night?"

"Fine." Joe took a breath, trying to figure out how to phrase this to a kid who was certain his father was perfect.

"Did they maybe have an argument? Or maybe one of them seemed a little angry?" Barry's hair flopped a little as he shook his head certainly. Joe exhaled. That didn't mean anything, of course—he knew perfectly well how easy it was to hide marital troubles from your kid. It would have made things easier if they had a known motive though.

"Okay. That's fine, you're doing really good." Expectant eyes met his from across the table, and Joe kept going. "When your mom told your dad that you won the fight—was that the first time she'd told him a lie to make him happy? Or had she done it before?"

Barry looked confused for a moment, and Joe waited patiently. He hoped it wasn't true, but experience told him that violence against a spouse usually didn't start with something quite so violent. If Nora Allen had been abused, even getting Barry to admit that she'd been afraid of her husband might be helpful in proving it.

"No," Barry said. "I don't… I don't think so." His eyes flicked nervously to the camera and then back to Joe. "I don't know. Why are you asking that?"

"Don't worry, you're doing really well," Joe reassured him, skirting the question. "Let's go back to last night. So your dad got home, and then what?"

"I started my homework. I finished my science at school but I still had to do my long division worksheet and then I had to finish my reading log."

"And what were your mom and dad doing while you did that?" Joe asked, ignoring the overly detailed list of assignments; he knew Barry to be a kid who loved school, something he'd always hoped would rub off on Iris.

"Dad checked my science, and then they went to go pick up dinner."

"Both of them?" Barry nodded. "What restaurant?"

"Ricci's, with the really good meatballs." Joe knew that his partner would be on the phone with the manager shortly, looking for anyone who had seen the Allens when they came in last night, so Joe continued.

"So they went to get dinner, and then what?"

"They came back and we ate."

"You all ate together?" Barry nodded. "What did you talk about?" Joe had questioned children before, and had learned the hard way that if they had relevant information, it often wouldn't occur to them to share it unless specifically asked about it—and so he very thoroughly, painstakingly asked every single question about the night that he could think to ask.

"Mom—" he paused, his throat seeming to stick a little.

"I know," Joe murmured. "Do you want some water?" Barry shook his head and continued.

"Mom was asking me what I wanted to do for my birthday this year."

"Did you talk about anything else?" Barry shrugged.

"Mom asked Dad about work."

"What did he say about work?" Barry shrugged again.

"He said he didn't want to talk about it." Something must have flickered across Joe's face against his will because Barry suddenly leapt to his defense. "But sometimes he has bad days and doesn't want to talk about it! That's normal! He's a doctor he… he sees sad stuff sometimes!"

Joe knew all about seeing sad stuff, and he wondered if it was related to the events of the night before. Worth following up on in any case, which his partner was probably already doing.

"Was that all you talked about at dinner?" Barry nodded. "What did you do after dinner?"

"I did the dishes and then I called Iris," he said.

"And what were your parents doing?" Barry shrugged again.

"They went in their room."

"Do you know what they were doing in there?" Barry shrugged yet again. "Okay, that's fine. Don't worry about it. When did they come out?"

"When Mom said it was time for bed."

"And where was your dad?"

"He was next to her. She was just the one who said it." Joe chuckled a little.

"Okay. So you went to bed. What happened next?"

"Um," scared eyes flicked back to the camera, then down to his hands folded on the table. They were getting into the part Joe had been dreading—the part where Barry had to relive whatever had happened last night, and where Joe would finally find out how much of it the kid had actually seen.

"Did you go right to sleep?"

"After my parents said good night."

"Alright," Joe said encouragingly. "So, what woke you up?" Barry sat a moment, staring at the table, and then spoke without lifting his eyes.

"There was a lot of noise coming from the living room."

"Like people shouting?" Joe asked, watching the boy carefully. Barry shook his head.

"No, like… like clattering. I thought maybe the bookcase had fallen over."

"Do you happen to know what time it was when you woke up?" Barry shrugged, and Joe groaned internally. They could guess, of course, but having a definite time made everything easier. "That's fine," he said aloud. "So you heard a noise and woke up—then what?"

"I was gonna go back to sleep," he said slowly, eyes still fixed on a spot on the table, "but I heard more noise, like something else fell, and I sat up. And then…" He raised his eyes to meet Joe's, and Joe waited a moment. When he didn't speak again, Joe prompted him.

"And then what?"

"Well, I don't understand, but… the water in my fish tank all floated up." Joe looked at the kid blankly for a moment.

"What… what do you mean it floated up?" Barry gave a little frustrated sigh.

"I don't know," he said dismissively.

"Well," Joe hesitated. "You meant something. What did you mean?"

"I just—I looked at the fish tank and all the water was floating in the air above the tank. It was weird."

A dream, or some weird child's fantasy. In any case, it didn't really didn't have anything to do with Nora Allen's murder, so Joe let it go.

"Okay," he said understandingly before moving them along. "So after that, what happened? Did you hear any voices?"

"There was a lot of banging and clattering and stuff, and I thought I heard my mom's voice, but I couldn't tell what she was saying. So I got out of bed and went downstairs." Barry picked at a fingernail and when he didn't say anything for a moment, Joe prompted him again.

"What did you see when you got downstairs?" Barry raised his eyes and met Joe's, and Joe could only describe the expression there as haunted.

"My mom was screaming." He spoke so quietly that Joe could barely hear him, and he wondered if the camera was even picking it up. "She was sitting on the floor and there were tables and stuff knocked over everywhere. And she started screaming my name when she saw me." Joe waited to see if he'd say more, and when he didn't, Joe kept going.

"Where was your dad?"

"Behind me. He told me to run from the lightning." Joe blinked.

"What?" He vaguely remembered Barry babbling about lightning last night but he hadn't given it much thought given the circumstances.

"There was lightning everywhere. It was hurting my mom, and my dad told me to run." His eyes were wide and earnest. Joe hesitated a moment, not sure what to say. He had dismissed the story about the fish tank as a dream, but he wondered now if there was something more serious going on.

"What kind of lightning? What did it look like?" Joe probed cautiously. Maybe there had been a fire, or a plug sparking? Though they hadn't found signs of either at the scene.

"Yellow and red lightning, everywhere. It was moving really fast all over the room, knocking stuff over. And my mom was in the middle of it screaming."

It didn't sound like any lightning Joe had ever heard of. He'd ask the CSIs if they had any theories about it, but he had one that seemed a lot more likely than some strange freak of science.

"Barry," he said gently, "I really need you to be serious here, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know this is hard. I know. But I really need you to only tell me what actually happened, okay?" Barry's eyebrows knitted together, confused.

"That did happen," he said simply, and in that moment, Joe realized that he really did believe that—which opened a whole new set of problems, not least of which was that there was now no reliable witness.

"So your dad told you to run? What happened next?"

"My dad screamed my mom's name," he said quietly, "and then I was outside."

"That was when you ran out?" Barry shook his head.

"I didn't run out. I just… suddenly was. It was like I blinked and I was outside and my… my parents were…" His throat seemed to close up a little, and Joe reached across the table and put a hand over Barry's. "They were still inside."

Losing time—like the time it would take to run outside—wasn't uncommon in traumatic situations, Joe knew, so he ignored Barry's claim of apparent teleportation.

"Is that when you called 911?" Barry nodded slowly.

"My mom always forgets her cellphone and leaves it in the car, so I checked and she… it was there."

"Did you go back in the house?" Barry shook his head and Joe let out a long breath. He hadn't seen it.

He'd seen some of the fighting, some of the horror and violence, but he hadn't watched his mother die, and Joe sent up a momentary prayer in thanks for that.

"So you stood outside until the police got there?" Barry nodded. "Did your dad come out at all while you were waiting?" The little boy shook his head. "Did you see or hear anything else?"

"The lightning that took me outside really fast went back inside." Joe kept his face blank.

"Anything else?"

"I… I could hear…" His big eyes began to fill with tears and he squeezed Joe's hand in the middle of the table.

"What could you hear?" Joe asked as kindly as he could. Barry sniffed.

"I could hear her screaming. And then I heard all the noise stop." His voice was tremulous, and tears slid down his face

Joe squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, Barry was looking at him with tear-stained cheeks and big eyes.

"So now you're gonna let my dad go, right?"

"We'll see," he said cautiously. "It's not my decision." In all honesty, even with the kid denying it as fervently as he was, Henry Allen seemed guilty to Joe—unless they were going to question imaginary red and yellow lightning, there wasn't even any other suspect. Whether Henry was charged with the murder or not wasn't up to Joe, but it was looking like it was going to happen.

Now wasn't the time for that conversation though.

"My dad didn't do it!" Barry cried.

"We'll see what happens," Joe said gently.

"You have to let him go!"

"Let's take it one step at a time." Barry took a deep breath, and Joe offered him a small smile. "I think we have everything we need for now," he said, standing from the table. "How about we get some lunch?"

"I'm not hungry," he answered sullenly, staying seated.

"Well you can't stay in here all day." Joe took Barry's hand and tugged gently. "We can go sit in the break room. I'll eat lunch and you can have some hot chocolate." Barry shrugged, standing and shuffling out the door as Joe held it open, past the curious looks from Lacey and the cops and social worker who had all been standing around the monitor.

"Thanks, Joe," he whispered.

"Anytime," Joe said quietly, and a big, sturdy hand found its way to a skinny little shoulder as they walked.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_** _First of all, it's become clear to me that this is obviously going to be a lot more than three chapters! I see now that my outline was way too ambitious for only three chapters, so I'll let you know when I have some idea of how long this will end up being. Anyway, once again, this chapter is even longer than the last! I'm getting so into this story, and I'm getting very excited about some of the stuff I have planned! I hope to have more for you soon, but for now, there's this. So many of you have said very kind things about this story, and I really, sincerely appreciate your feedback! I hope this chapter continues to not disappoint y'all :)_

* * *

Barry sat on the lumpy green couch in the break room, slurping a mug of hot chocolate, legs folded underneath him and face blank. Joe watched cautiously from his spot at the little round table as he ate his sandwich.

He had no idea what was going to happen to Barry. He had dealt with countless murders before, had seen his fair share of orphaned children—but never had it felt so personal. He'd never had to deal with the kids beyond his police duties, and he could feel how very far out of his depth he was here, even having been handling it for less than twelve hours.

A knock came on the door, and Joe looked up as Denise, the social worker who'd been assigned to the Allen case, stuck her head in.

"Detective West, could I talk to you for a moment?" He glanced at Barry, whose careful gaze slid from Denise to Joe.

"I'll be right out here if you need anything, Barry," Joe said as he stood, leaving his sandwich where it sat. "I won't be long."

He headed to the door, which Denise was holding open for him, and offered Barry a small smile as Denise let it close.

"So he stayed with you last night?" she asked, getting immediately to business. Joe had seen her with families and kids before; she cared, but she was firm and could be tough when needed—a good person to have on your side.

"Yeah," he answered. "He and my daughter are friends, he's spent the night with us before."

"Of course," she said. "Well, I was looking at the victim's paperwork—the father's sister, Katherine, is listed as the godmother. I tried to contact her but she apparently died last year, and they didn't ever update it. I'll need to talk to Barry and see if he has other family we can contact—unless you know of someone?" Joe shook his head. "Okay. Well, it looks like we may have to put him in foster care then—probably just for a few days." Joe shook his head firmly.

"He can stay with me until you get in touch with someone."

"That's definitely preferable. Hopefully it'll be just a few days." Denise glanced at the closed door, then back to Joe. "How's he doing?" Joe gave a heavy sigh.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "Devastated, probably traumatized. You were watching his statement?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, the thing with the lightning. I've seen it before—kids who've seen such horrific things sometimes come up with fantastical explanations. I'd imagine that's especially true in his case, given that it seems the perpetrator is someone he trusted and admired." She sighed and swept a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm definitely going to have him see a counselor, but I think that can wait a few days until he's in a more permanent situation."

"So what'll happen to him?" Joe asked, and Denise gave a little sigh.

"Assuming the D.A. charges Henry Allen," she said slowly, "well, he's a first time offender, and I can't think of any reason he'd be considered a flight risk. So, I'm sure he'll be out on bail and have custody until the trial."

"What?" Joe asked sharply. "You can't let that happen!"

"Well," Denise said, glancing at the closed door and lowering her voice slightly. "If that happens, I may be able to get custody revoked until the trial on the suspicion of domestic abuse, given that the victim was his wife. But if Barry _wants_ to stay with his dad, it'll get ugly." Joe rubbed his eyes, and Denise raised her voice back up to its normal volume. "Of course, there's no point worrying about that until we know if the D.A is even going to charge him."

"He's gonna charge him," Joe said tiredly. "I guarantee it." At Denise's raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "I've been doing this long enough. They have more than enough."

"Well, I need to go talk to Barry and see what other family he has. Captain wanted you to go be in there when they question the dad."

* * *

Henry was refusing to give them anything to work with. He insisted he was innocent, but his story matched Barry's almost exactly—which was not a good sign, as Barry's seemed to be the delusions of a traumatized little boy. Now, worryingly, it seemed as if he had possibly been coached.

Joe's partner was alone in the room with Henry, but periodically Henry would turn to the camera and plead that Joe, who he had accurately guessed was watching on the monitor outside the room, tell them what a good guy he was.

"Our kids are friends! Tell them, Joe!"

Lacey, who had been adjusting one of the many knobs on the board at the base of the monitor, turned and glanced at Joe curiously.

"For God's sake, he's let his daughter stay at my house!" Henry cried, turning back to Joe's partner.

"What do you make of him?" the captain murmured, leaning toward Joe's ear.

Joe watched as Henry repeated the ridiculous story, complete with lightning and Barry teleporting, and sighed. Despite having claimed to have witnessed the stabbing, he could provide no description of the supposed suspect, not even a gender, nor could he explain how they had gotten in the house or where they had gone after killing Nora. It was too absurd.

"He's right. I trusted him with Iris, considered him my friend." The captain nodded thoughtfully and Joe sighed and shook his head. "I think he pulled a damn good con. And I'm thinking he went to a lot of trouble to have a friend at the police station."

* * *

Even having come into work late, by three in the afternoon, Joe felt the day had been extraordinarily long. When he went back into the break room, he found Denise and Barry sitting quietly. He was glad to see that she had gotten him to eat some crackers, but he seemed in even worse a mood than he had been when Joe left him, if that was possible.

Denise got up and met Joe in the doorway, speaking in a low voice.

"Only living family he knows of is his grandmother who's in a nursing home. I'll do some more digging, but it looks as though he'll be staying with you for the next couple of days—assuming that offer still stands?"

"Of course," Joe assured her. "How's he doing?"

"Still in shock, I think," she answered, lowering her voice even further. "Can't even imagine what's going on in his poor head right now." Joe gave a soft grunt of agreement. "I'm about to go speak with Mr. Allen and let him know what's going on," she said, and Joe nodded. She gave a careful glance back at Barry and lowered her voice even further. "I'll need to speak to him tomorrow about his father, if you wouldn't mind bringing him in again?"

Joe agreed, and then Denise called out to Barry.

"Bye, Barry. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" He gave no sign that he'd heard her, and she flicked her eyes back to Joe. "See if you can't get him to talk to you?" she murmured, and then she was out the door.

Watching the quiet, solemn boy carefully, Joe went to the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice, which he set in front of Barry.

"It's been a pretty weird day, huh?" he said, and Barry met his eyes and nodded as he reached for the glass.

"Thanks," he mumbled as he raised the glass to his lips and drank, and Joe watched approvingly. Half a donut and some milk, a few sips of hot chocolate, and a handful of crackers wasn't much for a kid he knew could easily eat three helpings of macaroni and cheese in one sitting (which he had, the last time he'd come over for dinner).

"Do you have any questions?" Joe asked after Barry had finished gulping down more than half the juice. Barry hesitated in a way that told Joe that when he shook his head, he was lying.

"Well, it looks like you're going to stay with me and Iris again tonight," he said, and Barry's eyes flicked away.

"What about my dad?" he asked, and Joe sighed.

"Well, we've been looking at all of our evidence, and asking you and your dad a lot of questions to try to figure out what happened," he started.

"My dad didn't do it!" Joe ignored that.

"And the district attorney has looked at everything and decided—" Joe stopped himself, wondering if there was a way to say this without upsetting Barry too much. But he was a smart kid and would know if Joe was sugarcoating things, so Joe barreled onward. "He decided to charge your dad with the murder." There was a moment where he thought he'd have to explain what that meant, but then Barry's eyes widened in understanding and he leapt to his feet.

"He didn't do it!" he cried insistently. "Let them video me again! He didn't do it! Did you talk to my dad? What did he say?"

"I haven't spoken to him," Joe said, which was technically true, even if he had watched his interrogation.

"But I was there!" Barry shouted, storming away from the table, only to turn abruptly around and march back toward Joe. "Why did you bother asking me what happened if you weren't going to listen to me?"

"You said yourself that you didn't actually see what happened, Barry," Joe said calmly. "You said you were in the front yard."

"But I saw the lightning!" He cried. "It was the lightning! Dad was trying to save her!" Joe said nothing as Barry continued his angry pacing. After a moment, Barry stopped and caught Joe's gaze. "So you think I'm lying?" he asked, defiantly folding his arms. Joe shook his head.

"I know you wouldn't lie," Joe said carefully. "But I think you've been through a lot." In fact, Joe realized with a start, it had only been about twelve hours since he'd arrived on the scene, heart dropping as he saw the crying boy standing in the front yard. Considering that, Barry was doing remarkably well.

"So you think I'm crazy?" His expression dared Joe to say it, but Joe simply shook his head again.

"Do you want to pick a fight with me," he asked calmly, "or do you want me to tell you what happens next?" Barry stared at him with big, unblinking eyes for a moment before sitting down again, which Joe took as his answer.

"The arraignment is set for tomorrow afternoon," he started, relaying what the D.A. had told him after they had finally finished with Henry's interrogation. "Do you know what an arraignment is?" Barry shook his head. "They'll just decide how much money he has to pay for bail. After the arraignment he can pay his bail, and he'll be able to get out until the trial." At Barry's hopeful expression, Joe quickly clarified. "Just until the trial. That's when they'll decide if he has to go to prison or not."

Assuming that if bail was set at the arraignment on Wednesday, Henry would be able to pay and be out on Thursday, that gave Denise about a day and a half to figure out how to keep Barry out of Henry's custody—not that Joe was going to mention that to Barry. He'd figure that out when the time came—and hopefully when Barry was in a more permanent home with some family member.

"Okay," Barry said in a small voice, and Joe realized how overwhelmed he must be. Joe felt overwhelmed, and he was a full-grown adult whose mother hadn't just been killed.

"I know it's a lot," Joe said. "I know you must be sad and confused and angry right now." Barry didn't say anything, but a slight narrowing of his eyes told Joe he was right on all counts. "I just want to tell you that you're doing a really good job handling all of this. I know it's an impossible situation, but you're dealing with it, and that's all you can do." Barry cast his eyes down and didn't answer. Just as Joe was about to add the obligatory "you can talk to me about anything if you need to," Barry looked back up at him, eyes shining.

"I think I just really miss my mom."

"I know you do," Joe said quietly.

"I just really want to talk to her."

"I know you do," Joe murmured again.

"I feel like I'm going to see her when I get home tonight," Barry whispered.

"That's a normal thing to feel," Joe assured him.

"But I also feel like I can't breathe," Barry admitted, voice shaking. A tear finally spilled out and slid down his cheek. Joe felt his own eyes pricking and took Barry's hand, sitting on the table, in his own.

"That'll get better with time."

* * *

At around five, they left the precinct to go pick up Iris from school—well, from volleyball, which she had reluctantly chosen from a list of activities that had practice after school, allowing Joe to rest easy knowing she wasn't at home by herself until he came home from work.

They pulled up in front of Central City Elementary and she ran to the car, sweaty-faced and messy-haired, and climbed into the backseat.

"Hi, Barry," she said cautiously. Joe had warned him that he'd let her know what was going on so he wouldn't have to explain anything to her, so Barry just turned around from his spot in the passenger seat.

"Hi," he answered, subdued.

As they drove home, Joe could see that she was burning with curiosity about everything, but she had always been perceptive and he was proud to see that she seemed to understand that now was not the time for questions.

When they got home, Barry immediately went up to the guest room and closed the door, and Iris parked herself at the dining room table with her homework.

"Is he okay?" she asked as Joe dug around in a drawer for the pizza place's number, not having the energy to cook for them tonight.

"He's having a really rough day, honey," he answered, glancing up. She looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Should I go see if he wants to talk?" she asked, and Joe shook his head.

"He could probably use some time to himself for now." She nodded, and he added, "but maybe later tonight you can go see if he wants some company. He might want to talk about his mom, or he might want to talk about something else, or he might not want to talk at all." He walked around the table and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "He just needs you to be a good friend right now; I know you can do that better than anyone."

The pizza came, and as Joe checked over Iris's homework, he sent her upstairs with a couple of plates so she could offer one to Barry. He suspected Barry would politely decline, but he hoped finally getting to talk to his best friend about everything, as opposed to Joe, police officers, and social workers, would be a bit of a relief to the poor kid.

Joe absently marked a misspelled word with Iris's pencil, making a note to have her fix it later, as he took another bite of pizza.

It had been a long fucking day. He couldn't even quite figure out how Barry had become his responsibility except that he had volunteered on a whim. He couldn't really be sorry he'd done it—as Denise had said, if Barry wasn't here, he'd be in foster care until she could find some distant relative to take him—but he was so far out of his depth and couldn't quite believe he'd actually chosen to make his life infinitely more complicated. But who else did the kid have?

After about ten minutes, Iris still hadn't come back downstairs, which Joe took as a good sign. Just to check, he got up from the table and crept up the stairs, stopping just short of the cracked guest room door, where he could hear quiet voices.

"Her eyes were still open," Barry told Iris quietly, and Joe closed his own. He was still kicking himself for the fact that Barry had seen the body.

"Your mom was so nice," came Iris's softer voice, and a little sniff told Joe that Barry was crying.

"I was really scared," Barry admitted, voice shaking. "Don't tell your dad."

"I won't," she assured him, and Joe sighed quietly.

"I mean, _really_ scared," Barry insisted, sniffling. "I thought I was going to die."

"That's okay," Iris said quietly. "I think you're really brave, even if you were scared."

"I thought I was going to die," Barry said again, voice choking, "but I think this is worse." He broke into sobs, and Joe felt his own tears threatening. When he didn't hear Iris say anything, he stole a glance through the cracked door.

She had wrapped him in a hug, and the two of them sat there as he cried into her shoulder. He couldn't see her face, but the tension in her back told him how tightly she was holding him.

Joe left them and went back downstairs, giving them privacy. Neither of them came downstairs for an hour, and he couldn't help but think that, even in all of this horribleness, he couldn't quite believe he was responsible for such an amazing little girl.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:**_ _Hey, I'm back! Sorry about the wait! This was a weirdly tough one to write. Anyway, if it feels a little slow in the beginning, hopefully the end makes up for it. Also, a note about this one, there are two instances of cursing in this chapter. I'm not going to change the rating just for that, but be aware if that bothers you. And, without further ado, chapter five._

* * *

Joe turned the volume on the radio up as he glanced in the rearview mirror at Barry and Iris in the backseat, huddled together and whispering quietly. They had talked for over an hour last night, and he could see that it had done Barry a lot of good. Now, though, he suspected that they were talking about lighter subjects.

He cleared his throat as they pulled up at Central City Elementary, and Iris, who was leaning a little into Barry, whispering something, glanced out the window and sighed.

"Bye, Barry," she said, grabbing her backpack and lunchbox and throwing open the door.

"Bye," he answered as he started his climb over the console to the front seat.

"Bye, baby, have a good day. Love you," Joe added before she could close the door.

"Love you too, Daddy." The door slammed, and Joe waited for the telltale click of Barry's seatbelt before he pulled away and headed to the station.

When they arrived, he dropped Barry in the break room with some books and a portable DVD player he had packed up that morning. Even though he had requested desk duty to stay and keep an eye on Barry, he knew he had a mountain of paperwork to fill out about the Allen case, which had gone neglected yesterday since he'd come in late and then been handling the interviews. He warned Barry that Denise would be coming in soon to talk to him, let him know that his desk was just a short walk should he need anything, and reluctantly left him to it.

Joe checked on him frequently, and knew that Denise was doing the same. Around midday, she came and spoke to Joe briefly, telling him that she had talked to Barry—who had vehemently denied any abuse toward himself or Nora on Henry's part, which surprised neither of them.

The day passed relatively uneventfully as Joe slogged his way through the paperwork on the Allen case. It wasn't until Joe was in the break room collecting Barry to go pick up Iris that Denise finally had real news.

Joe turned as she knocked on the door, and when she gestured that she needed to speak with him privately, he left Barry with the bag they had been packing DVDs into.

"I'll be right back," he said as he left.

"The arraignment was today," she began as soon as the door clicked shut, and Joe nodded. He had known that, but forgotten. "It went as expected. Henry's going to be out on bail by tonight or tomorrow."

"And Barry?" Joe asked hesitantly. Denise sighed and shook her head.

"He denied all allegations of abuse. There's nothing I can do." She hesitated a moment.

"But?" Joe prompted.

"There's nothing _I_ can do, but we could get CPS involved, and they would almost certainly take him. But…" She stopped again, and Joe almost wanted to shake her. Finally, she continued. "This kid has no one. When I spoke to Henry, he confirmed that there's no family around that can take him. We would have no choice but to put him in foster care, and since there's no evidence of abuse and Barry _wants_ to stay with his dad…" She trailed off, shrugging, but looking unsure.

"No," Joe said sharply. "No evidence of abuse? That's… he murdered his wife! He is a _danger_ to that kid!"

"I agree with you," Denise said hurriedly. "I just know that foster care is really rough, and it should be a last resort. And since Barry wants to stay with his dad and doesn't have anywhere else to go, maybe that's best."

"He can stay with me until you find someone," Joe threw out desperately. "He just cannot go back to Henry Allen."

"There is no one to find, Detective West!" Denise cried. Joe exhaled slowly and scrubbed a hand down his face.

"I just…" He stopped and collected himself a moment. "I cannot respond to another call at their house and find _his_ body on the living room floor. I can't. So please, do whatever you have to do to get him out of there."

"If we get CPS to take him away from Mr. Allen, he becomes a ward of the state, and will probably be going from foster home to foster home until he turns eighteen. I'm really reluctant to pull him from a father that wants him, and that he is happy with, if we have no allegations of abuse."

She had a point, and it made Joe furious. The only options were to risk the kid's life by sending him home with a suspected murderer, or to force him into the misery of constantly changing foster homes. One was obviously better than the other, but neither was good. Joe sighed, frustrated. He wished Barry could just stay with him and Iris—he would let Barry stay as long as he needed, and he would know he wasn't being mistreated.

It took Joe a moment, standing there glaring at Denise, speechless. When it came, it crept in, an almost unwelcome thought—but both options were unacceptable, and so the only choice was to make a third option.

"What would it take," he began slowly, and Denise raised her eyebrows, waiting, "for me to become a foster parent?"

* * *

When Iris climbed in the car, Joe could immediately tell something was wrong. She was quiet, and she shot a furtive glance at Barry.

He noticed it too.

"What?" he asked at her look. She looked back down at her lap and then glanced out the window, where a group of kids were standing a little ways away from the car, whispering to each other. They kept looking at the car, and then back at each other.

Oh boy. It hadn't even occurred to Joe, when he'd asked Iris to be discreet, that it wouldn't really be up to her whether or not their classmates found out.

Joe saw the moment that Barry caught the eyes of one of the whispering girls, who hurriedly looked away. His eyes widened and he rounded on Iris.

"You told them?" he cried, accusing. Iris's eyes widened and she shook her head hurriedly.

"No, of course not!"

"Barry, it was all over the news last night," Joe jumped in, putting a hand on Barry's shoulder. Barry turned big, hurt eyes toward Joe. "I'm sorry, but people were always going to find out."

"They'll have something new to talk about by the time you're back at school," Iris said quietly from the back seat, but Barry just shook his head.

"They all know?" he asked, quietly enough that he didn't seem to be talking to Joe or Iris. Joe answered anyway.

"You don't need to worry about them, not right now. Iris is right, they'll have moved on by the time you see them again." Barry sighed and sunk lower in his seat, and Joe, glancing at Iris in the rearview mirror, pulled away from the school.

* * *

That evening was tense. Barry had immediately stomped up to the guest room and hadn't reappeared since, even for dinner. Iris had been mostly silent through dinner, and then disappeared into her own room while Joe was on the phone with Denise, who had called to tell him that she'd gotten someone at Child Services to sign off on Barry being pulled from the Allen home.

Joe sat at the dining room table with his stack of paperwork. It was just the application, Denise had told him, and it was only the first step. Following that he would have to turn in vaccination records, copies of his driver's license and car insurance, a written up disaster plan, three letters of recommendation, and more, not to mention multiple background checks, home safety checks and home studies from the social worker, first aid and CPR training (which he, as a police officer, fortunately already had), and twelve hours of foster parent training. It made his head hurt.

He couldn't quite believe he was doing it. He had suggested it almost on a whim, out of complete desperation, but as he sat at the table with his application, he was seriously having second thoughts; being a single father had defined his life, and it was a fulltime job. Rewarding as hell, and he wouldn't give it up for the world, but it was hard enough with one kid—a particularly good one, at that. He couldn't imagine adding a troubled and traumatized kid to his household for longer than the couple of days he'd already spent there. When Joe had brought Barry home that night, he hadn't expected that he would still be here two days later—and if he was being honest with himself, if he had, he wouldn't have done it.

But he was involved now, and as Denise had said, Barry had no one. He wasn't going to turn down a child in need, now matter how inconvenient, and so here he sat filling out this application. It was temporary, at least, even if it was much longer than the couple of days he'd originally guessed it would be. Denise had said it could take a couple of months for him to officially become licensed, but said that in these "unique circumstances," since he was a family friend and already had Barry at his home, that she could arrange for him to stay with Joe as long as Joe was actively in the process of becoming a foster parent. After the trial, which hadn't been scheduled yet but would probably be in six months to a year, Henry would either be cleared and allowed to have Barry back, or be in prison and Barry would be up for adoption—and could stay with Joe until that happened.

Six months to a year was a long time though. Through the end of the school year, which wasn't much longer, through the entire summer, and all the way up until around Thanksgiving, on the shorter end. A long time.

A knock on the front door pulled Joe from his thoughts, and he sighed as he stood to answer it. As soon as he pulled the door open, though, he was on his guard.

Henry Allen stood in front of him, looking somewhat disheveled and quite distraught.

"Joe," he said, voice ragged. Joe stepped toward him and pulled the door behind him so it was only a crack open.

"You need to leave," he said firmly, and Henry raised shaking hands toward his chest.

"I know," he said. "I know, I just came to get Barry."

No one had told him, Joe realized. It made sense, he supposed, since Denise had only called him an hour ago. It was lucky that he was a cop and entirely unafraid of Henry, Joe thought, though he was pretty sure it still wasn't supposed to be his responsibility to tell Henry.

"CPS is taking him from your custody until the trial," Joe said firmly, but not unkindly.

"No," Henry murmured, running fingers through his hair, eyes looking out in the distance. "Where's he gonna go? What's gonna happen to him?!" Henry cried.

"He'll stay here with me and Iris," Joe said calmly. "And I would appreciate if you'd keep your voice down." The last thing Barry needed was to get pulled into this conversation.

"I wanna see my son," Henry said, lowering his voice back to a normal volume.

"I don't think that's a good idea, not tonight," Joe said just as calmly as Henry. He watched Henry's jaw work.

"Just let me talk to him, Joe," he managed to get out through clenched teeth.

"Not tonight," Joe said again, opening the door wider so he could back into the house. "We can talk later."

"God dammit, Joe, just let me talk to my son!" Henry shouted, losing the calm front he had been keeping up. He lunged forward as if to force his way into the house, and Joe threw up his arms to block the smaller man's way in.

"You need to go, Henry," Joe said forcefully. Henry backed off, hands raised as if in surrender.

"Just let me talk to him, just for a minute."

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"You can't keep me from my son!" Henry cried, lunging toward the door again, slamming shoulder first into Joe as he stepped in to block him. "I am his father!"

"I will put you under arrest!" Joe threatened, knocking Henry back a few steps with his own shoulder.

"I AM HIS FUCKING FATHER!"

"Dad?" Both men swiveled around to see Barry, wide eyed and terrified, standing at the bottom of the stairs. At the top of the stairs Iris watched with eyes like saucers.

"Iris, go to your room." Joe's voice left no room for arguments, and with a quick assessing glance at Joe and Henry, then Barry, Iris turned and scurried back to her room, leaving the door cracked behind her.

"Barry," Henry said soothingly, "are you okay?"

"What's going on, Dad?" Now that Barry had seen his father, Joe knew there was no getting out of some sort of interaction, not when Barry had been dying to see him since the arrest. The best he could do was make it quick.

"Your father was just leaving, Barry," Joe said, glancing back at Henry and making meaningful eye contact. "Why don't you say good bye, and tomorrow we'll talk to Denise about setting up a real visit."

Henry, for his part, had calmed himself. At least Barry's coming downstairs had Henry acting civil again—silver linings, Joe supposed.

Barry shook his head, eyes filling with tears.

"Why can't I go home?"

And Joe realized that with Barry upset about the kids at school finding out about everything, he hadn't actually told him the new arrangement. He heaved a deep sigh, but Henry beat him to it. With a forced calm and shaking but gentle voice, Henry stooped slightly to make proper eye contact with Barry.

"You're gonna stay with Joe and Iris for a while," he said, and Joe almost felt sorry for him as his eyes filled with tears. "Just until the trial."

Barry let out a wail, and Joe watched Henry choke back a cry of his own.

"No, it'll be fun. Like a really long sleepover," he said, wiping away a tear with the heel of his hand. "Come give me a hug, slugger," he added, glancing at Joe for permission, which Joe silently granted by stepping back as Barry ran to him.

Henry wrapped him in his arms and lifted him slightly off the floor, Barry openly sobbing into his shoulder. It was, Joe realized with a start, the first time he had seen his dad since he'd discovered that his mother had died.

For several minutes they stayed like that, until Henry finally put him down.

"I'm gonna go now, okay?" he said, wiping a tear off of Barry's cheek with his thumb.

"I wanna go with you!" Barry cried. Henry just shook his head, eyeing Joe.

"Not yet," he said, stepping out the door. "I love you, kiddo."

"NO!" Barry yelled, running toward Henry. Joe stepped in front of him, blocking him. "I wanna go with you!" In that moment, Henry's eyes looked so hurt that Joe could almost forget that they were in a situation of Henry's own creation.

"Bye." And the door clicked shut.

"NO!" Barry wailed, and he slammed with his eleven-year-old body into Joe, who caught him and held him. "DAD!"

"You'll get to visit him, Barry, I promise," Joe assured him, holding him against him to keep him from running out the door.

"DAD! DAD!" But as Barry's wails for his dad turned into incoherent sobs, Joe realized he had lost both of his parents over two days. It was a lot for anyone, let alone a little kid.

"DAD!" Aware that Iris was hearing all of this, Joe gently nudged Barry, hoping to move him into the kitchen. He seemed to only remind Barry that he was there though, as the kid looked up at him, quieting for a moment, and glared. Without a word, he turned and ran up the stairs and into the guest room, slamming the door behind him.

With a sigh, Joe followed him, listening for a moment at the door to the crying that had started back up.

There was no going back now, Joe realized as he listened, not now that Barry knew. Suggesting it to Denise wasn't binding, nor was filling out the application, since he hadn't turned it in yet.

But now Barry had been promised, and Joe couldn't disappoint this little boy who had lost his mother and now his father—and even if Barry was angry now, he knew better than to think that Barry wouldn't be hurt if Joe changed his mind. So now it was real. Now it was binding.

From behind the door, Joe heard a clatter, as if something had been knocked over or thrown.

Across the hall, Iris's door was hesitantly pushed all the way open, and her little head popped out.

"Barry's staying with us?" she asked quietly, and Joe turned and met her wide brown eyes.

"Not forever," he said, going to her and putting an arm around her. "But yeah, baby. For a while."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Hey, second author's note! I just wanted to clarify that this is definitely not the end! I have this story pretty well outlined, and we're getting close, but this definitely isn't it. Anyway, look forward to more soon, and please leave a review to let me know what you thought of this chapter, because I really appreciate it! Thanks!_


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